Merged: Shards of Existence
by Aleine Skyfire
Summary: "To get me out of his way, Richard Stirling sent me back to London, 1890, so here I am, stuck 9 decades before my own birth. My only hope was to enlist the aid of my hero & role model, Sherlock Holmes." Series of vignettes based on future novel 'Merged'.
1. The TimeTraveler

These are the perspectives of the stars of future novel _Merged_—Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Inspector Geoffrey Lestrade, Mary Watson, Kathleen Stewart, Professor James Moriarty, and Richard Stirling. What you are about to read is _Merged: Shards of Existence_, the online version digging into the minds and hearts of these characters.

Please see **www(dot)studysherlockiana(dot)blogspot(dot)com** for more details.

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><p><em>© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire.<em>

_All rights reserved._

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><p><strong>==Merged: Shards of Existence==<strong>

**==1. The Time-Traveler==**

Even after getting a detailed debriefing from my stepbrother, I was skeptical. Really now: a time machine? Seriously? I'm a sci-fi buff, and time-travel is one of my favorite literary themes. I'm open to the idea of it being possible, but even I have to balk a little at the thought of it being a doable reality.

But Richard Stirling was convinced enough to steal it, so I had to treat it as a matter of international importance. After all, if time-travel with that machine was indeed possible, then Stirling effectively controlled the history and future of our world. As the woman who's been looking to net the Napoleon of crime of our own century for the past nine years, I well understand the implications… and they terrify me.

And then, Stirling just had to flaunt his newfound power, albeit with purpose. He used the machine's awesome abilities on _me_, sending me back to a time in which we're both devotedly interested: the late Victorian period. We're both Sherlockians—flipsides of the coin, if you will. He looked at Professor Moriarty and decided that crime pays; I looked at Sherlock Holmes and decided that I could use my own genius the exact same way he used his.

To get me out of his way, Stirling sent me back to London, 1890, and here I am, effectively stuck exactly nine decades before my own birth. My only hope was to enlist the aid of my hero and role-model. Stirling and I already knew that the _Strand_ stories were real—it's a very closely-guarded secret for reasons that even I don't completely understand, but it's true. Sherlock Holmes was real.

_Is_ real.

Thanks to a Providential meeting with Wiggins of the Baker Street Irregulars (now in his early twenties and quite the charmer), I journeyed quickly to Baker Street and met Sherlock Holmes, John and Mary Watson, and Geoffrey Lestrade. Can we say, major fangirl moment? Oh, don't worry—I contained myself. The others had nary a hint of the excitement rushing through my body like an adrenaline high.

It's late evening now of my first day in Victorian London, and, come morning, I have an appointment with Mrs. Hudson, Mary, and a new wardrobe for myself. But before I close, I have one more thing to add, something I have to get out of me before I burst into an embarrassingly immature _squeee_.

Jeremy Brett got it right.

I could shout with joy to the whole world—_Jeremy Brett got it right_.

Ever seen _My Fair Lady_? Jeremy as Freddie Eynsford-Hill? That's how Sherlock Holmes really looks. He's in his early thirties, like me, and that is really how he looks and sounds. I could kiss him just for living up to my fondest daydreams.

And he's so very young. I mean, he's every bit as experienced as I, and even, I suspect, more than a bit jaded. But he's just so _young_. You Sherlockians will know what I mean. You're used to Basil Rathbone or Jeremy Brett or Vasily Livanov or even Robert Downey, Jr. as the Great Detective, right? Actors who were all forty-ish or older when playing the role. Well, think more Benedict Cumberbatch tempered by Jeremy Brett, and you have a better idea of what Sherlock is like at this point in time. I can't wait 'til tomorrow, when I can hang around him more and study him once again.

If it weren't for the fact that we're both of us cast into this, the deadliest challenge of our lives, I would relish this opportunity to live and work alongside the man who has inspired me since early childhood. Come to think of it, I think I do, anyway. I'll take each moment as it comes and thank God for it. I might be here because Stirling wants me here, but I'm still in the palm of my Maker's hand, and He's sure not letting go. So with the true Lord of Time _on_ my side and the Great Detective _at_ my side, I'm ready to take on Stirling and Moriarty.

The game is on.

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><p><strong>BLURB:<strong>

Under secret construction for many years, a super-weapon has just been completed for the CIA. It is more powerful than an atomic bomb, more devastating than a nuclear missile.

It is a machine that can create rips through time to send a person into the past. Whoever controls this machine effectively controls the fate of our world.

And it has been stolen.

Enter Kathleen Stewart, a private investigator hired to retrieve the machine or, failing that, destroy it. The perpetrator is none other than the man she has been trying to net for nine years: Richard Stirling. But before she can come close to accomplishing her mission, she is propelled back through time…

To London, 1890.

Stirling has doubtless already used the machine to send himself back to meet his own role model, Professor Moriarty, and Kathleen decides to do likewise. It is time to enlist the aid of the man who changed criminal investigation forever…

As two very different worlds merge, the game is on, and the stakes have never been so high. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are in for the adventure of their lives.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

So, what do you guys think? Yes, this is the same universe as "Counting My Blessings," and this is all character-based stuff as I experiment with plot concepts and relational dynamics. (And it's all to get you revved-up for the novel when I finally write and publish it so that you'll buy it. ^_^)

Yes, this was Kathleen's perspective. Hurray for a hardcore fangirl getting to live out every Sherlockian's dream of meeting our hero! …Lucky dog. =) Btw, **blog update** yesterday, specifically about _Merged_, analyzing similarities between it and other girl-time-travels Sherlockian stories.

Next Saturday, two certain detectives' perspectives on morning coffee and relationships. Make sure to bring your own mug. ;-) (Warning: updates will be subjected to the same rule governing the rest of my fanfics.)

_**Please review!**_


	2. Coffee: Detectives' Perspectives

**Author's Note:**

Well, despite a slow beginning, I am hopeful! =) Thanks for the subscriptions and favorites thus far!

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: *grins* I know—isn't it terrific?

insideouttuoedisni: *grins again* Well, thank you! I can get frustrated with original characters, too, sometimes, but I think it's less because they're superhumanly awesome and more that the poor girls just aren't properly developed (and the superhumanly awesome results from it). But I have something of a weakness for creating OCs, and I do my utmost best to make them realistic and loveable—I don't want to fall into that trap so many fans do (in _any_ fandom). And, well, of course, she sounds normal! =) In fact, I'd say "slightly better" since, as one fan once said in her story: "What annoys me is that in a lot of Sherlock Holmes fanfictions I've read in which there's a modern female protagonist, she's inevitably this sassy, smart-mouthed brat who is completely rude to Holmes." …Now, you could never get that from me or Kathleen. Some witty banter, yes. But not rudeness. Anyway, I'm glad I have you interested, and I really, really, really hope that I don't lose your interest with this pair of viggies!

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><p><em>© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire.<em>

_All rights reserved._

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><p><strong>==2. Coffee: Detectives' Perspectives==<strong>

.

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><p><strong>I.<strong>

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><p>.<p>

She takes coffee in mornings and evenings, and sometimes afternoons, as well, if she has been more than twenty-four hours without sleep. She once claimed in jest that she could exist solely on coffee; I returned that I should not be a bit surprised if she could.

Coffee seems to be to her what tobacco is to me.

The last woman I knew to be so attracted to caffeine was my own mother. Despite her highly aristocratic, French upbringing—or perhaps because of it—she had a unique preference for coffee over tea. It was a love she taught me to develop. Many were the mornings in my boyhood that we would sit in the sunroom, partaking of our morning cup of coffee. Some of my fondest memories were born of such mornings.

As a young amateur detective struggling with his finances, I was fortunate indeed to acquire a flat mate who enjoys a cup of coffee as much as do I. Nearly ten years later, I find myself lodging with yet another person who holds coffee as a morning ritual.

It is intriguingly domestic, our shared custom: the peace of a morning, be it sunny or not, with a steaming pot of coffee and a man and woman cradling their cups in both hands to let the warmth permeate them. Sometimes, we hold wonderfully stimulating conversation; other times, we have a tacit agreement to enjoy the silence. If marriage is built of such moments, it is no longer a mystery to me why good, sensible men such as Watson take pleasure in matrimony.

I pray that Kathleen Stewart may be able to leave before I become too accustomed to her presence.

.

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><p><strong>II.<strong>

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><p>.<p>

He sits on the other side of the table, hands wrapped around his cup, eyes closed. He looks so peaceful and so beatific. If only I could capture this moment in time with my pencils…

But any major movement on my part might spoil the moment, so I'm stuck here, with my coffee, my notebook, and my pen (not good for drawing, or I would use it). I could think of quite a few worse places to be stuck.

I wonder if he realizes I'm watching him, studying him? Drinking in the sight of him at peace _without_ cocaine or cases? If he does, I'm sure he won't acknowledge it—that would be far too awkward for us both.

The sunlight is filtering through the fog rolling up from the Thames, suffusing the mist with gold and filling the sitting room with a warm glow. It is still the cool of the morning, and we're both wrapped in our dressing gowns, enjoying our morning coffee.

I'm trying _not_ to think of how domestic this little tableau is. If I did, my mind would instantly be spinning out dozens of fantasies involving the two of us having said our wedding vows. Oh, golly, there I go again.

I wonder if he's caught on yet to the fact that I have a longstanding crush on him. I was part of the generation that grew up with Jeremy Brett, all right? Crushing on the Great Detective was all too easy, and maintaining that crush through the years wasn't all that hard. The only other man for whom I ever held any serious feelings… he died. I'd resigned myself to being a single woman who was in love with love but could never have it for a plethora of reasons, one of which being that my heart lay with a long-dead English detective mostly regarded as fictional.

Now imagine me here, stuck in the late nineteenth century thanks to a modern criminal mastermind heck-bent on world domination… and stuck with none other than my lifelong hero, role model, and crush. I dare any unwed female Sherlockian to be in the same room with the focus of her fandom for _five minutes_ and not entertain a few worshipful thoughts.

I'll tell you right now: it can't be done. Especially if you've already been crushing on him. It can't be done.

But he's a confirmed bachelor and of a completely different time period. Even if I could get past the hurdle of the first obstacle, I couldn't get past the second. He belongs to his time, and I to mine. He could not give up his work in Victorian London, and I could not give up mine in postmodern NYC.

It's insane, Kathleen, okay? I-N-S-A-N-E.

…Holy cow, he just quirked a little satisfied smile and glanced fleetingly up at me with those big, luminous grey eyes. As long as he'd have me pinned with those beautiful grey eyes, I think he could make me do just about anything he wanted. _Just about_, though, so anybody reading this can get their minds out of the gutter.

Yes, I've got it really bad.

But it can't work, Kathleen; remember that. It can't work. It can't. It can't. It can't.

I love you, Sherlock Edward Holmes. I love you.

I wasn't afraid to tell it to the _world_ via the Internet back in my time. Ironic that I'm scared stiff to tell _him_ now.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Okay, don't kill me, please! I've actually been very, very good about doing a minimum of romance with our favorite detective—seriously, you don't know just how good. But I can't take it any longer! I _have_ to get this out of me before it drives me crazy! I've seen some Holmes/OC that was pretty decent—and I know I can do it, too! So… yeah. I'm really, honestly sorry if it loses you. I beg that you stick with me, though; I promise a fantastic journey for us all, writer, audience, and characters!

And I couldn't resist the rhyming title when it occurred to me. =)

Next up, don't know when, don't know what. I have a few ideas floating around in my head—nothing definite. Just keep your eyes peeled!

_**Please, please review!**_


	3. The Patriot

**Author's Note:**

Serious!vignette this time—a belated 4th of July special. Thanks go to **Wanderingchild96** for encouraging an idea in my head via a comment on the blog. (Although I know it's rather the opposite of what she was thinking. =P)

**To my reviewers:**

SabrinaPhynn: Aaaahhh, I COVET YOUR MUG. What I wouldn't give to be drinking coffee with Jeremy and Benny every single morning! =D Anyway, thank you!

sashaxh: Lol, I don't think either of them would take well to screaming… Thank you!

insideouttuoedisni: You've shared your thoughts about Holmes and romance before, yes, and a year ago, when I didn't know him very well, I would have agreed with you. But as I read the Canon all the way through, there were statements from the man himself here and there that I just couldn't reconcile with the idea of an "asexual" detective. It got to be that I saw him as a man who somewhat understood and was not wholly immune to the attraction of the opposite sex—but romance was purely impractical in his line of work, _and_ he never found a woman with whom he could commit himself to spending the rest of his life, anyway. So my POV is that romance for our favorite detective _is_ possible, but it takes some serious doing—he needs to be able to build up a solid relationship with a girl, first, before it can develop into romance. That being said… I'm so glad I haven't lost you yet! *blushes* Thank you so very much! (And glad you liked the title. ^_^)

ephemeral violet: Yay! =) 'Fraid it's not strictly Holmes/OC in this install or in the next two, but the 6th installment ought to be more seriously Sherlock/Kathleen. Thank you!

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><p><em>© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire. <em>The Patriot_ belongs to Columbia Pictures._

_All rights reserved._

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><p><strong>==3. The Patriot==<strong>

It was 10:30pm, and neither of them showed the slightest sign of being sleepy. Tired, yes, but not sleepy. It was just far too hot.

"You want to watch a movie?" Kathleen said finally.

Sherlock cocked his head in curiosity, giving up all pretence of interest in his chemistry set. "Did you have something specific in mind?"

"Actually…" She hesitated. "Well, today being the 4th of July… there's a movie I usually watch on this date."

Sherlock smiled a bit. "The American revolution, no doubt."

"The American War for Independence," she corrected. "There's a difference." She sighed at his slightly patronizing look—he just didn't understand. "Do you still believe that America will someday rejoin the British Empire?"

He chuckled a little. "You've already proven that it will not."

"But you still really don't understand why, do you." It wasn't really a question.

He arched one aristocratic eyebrow. "I sense that I am about to understand."

Kathleen smiled sadly. "Yes, you are." She stood and went to retrieve her external hard drive. "This film is called _The Patriot_…" She turned back and eyed him frankly. "I'll warn you now: it's a difficult film to watch."

"You have aroused my curiosity."

She nodded slowly. "All right, then." She booted up her laptop and hooked up the hard drive. "Just give me a minute."

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><p>It was well past one in the morning when the end credits were at last scrolling across the laptop screen. Kathleen glanced tentatively at her host, who stared at the screen, lost in contemplation. "Sherlock?"<p>

His reverie broke, and he glanced at her. "I understand," he said quietly. He rose and took his Stradivarius with him into his bedroom. Kathleen understood that routine by now—it meant that the force of his emotion was very near to breaking past his barriers, and he needed to withdraw to seek release privately.

A minute later, the most beautiful and heartrending music she had ever heard drifted from behind the closed door. It spoke of courage and perseverance, of patriotism and duty, of tears of blood and heartbreak. Kathleen could never watch _The Patriot_ without crying; she didn't bother to hold back now upon hearing Sherlock's song.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Just last week, I watched Mel Gibson's _The Patriot_ for the first time. That… is one of _the_ very _best_ films ever made. And, yes, it broke my heart—as my mom says, it's a hard movie to watch. The story itself is not a _true_ story, but it's based on the _reality_ of the American War for Independence.

And it's a movie I'd highly recommend whether or not you're American.

You can read this blog post to see what sparked this particular story: http : / / studysherlockiana . blogspot . com /2011/07/sherlock-holmes-america-and . html

Next Saturday… Holmes is caught in a _The Great Game_ situation. Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	4. Scylla vs Charybdis

**Author's Note:**

I will soon be without Internet access for the most part until September, hopefully no later. This collection might still be updated, but updates will be sporadic.

**To my reviewers:**

Moonspun Dragon: Thank you, and no problem, hon! Just make it when you can! =)

insideouttuoedisni: Thank you! Holmes + Strad = LOVE. Definitely. ^_^ Mm, I probably ought to read the Canon again… maybe this fall. Heh, I hadn't even finished it before I started AMM! =D Mm, your idea there sounds rather like _Young Sherlock Holmes_—ever watched it? Fun movie, if totally non-canonical and a bit fantastic. I like the idea of a teenage sweetheart, but my spin on it is simply that she dies quietly of disease. But put that concept in the same timeline as my backstory in which his parents are murdered, and that's just one punch to the gut right after another. (As far as spelling/grammar mistakes, there were barely any—kudos!)

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><p><em>© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire.<em>

_All rights reserved._

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><p><strong>4. Scylla vs. <strong>**Charybdis**

"Your choice, Sherlock."

Miraculously, my hands remain steady, though I am trembling inside.

"You probably can kill me." I detest that oh-so-smooth voice. "But _they_ won't even have a chance." He nods at Watson and Kathleen, both held in place with guns trained upon them.

Stirling is right—they _won't_ have a chance.

My world narrows down to the revolver in my hand, the man before me, the men holding my dearest friends captive, and Watson and Kathleen themselves, as bloodied and battered as I myself am. Watson's expression is desperate but defiant; I know he wants me to shoot Stirling, no matter the consequences. Kathleen's face, by contrast, is inscrutable, though I think that even her archenemy was expecting her to show more emotion. A lack of it means that her brain is, to borrow her own words, "working overtime." Does she see a way out of this that I cannot?

She flashes her brown eyes to me, then to Watson, then to their captors. And then I see it.

Those men are paying more attention to me and to their master than they are to their captives.

The tip of my tongue darts out and moistens my lower lip—it is an established signal with both my partners that I understand their intentions. As I return my full focus to Stirling, I see Kathleen communicate silently with Watson out of the corner of my eye.

"What's it going to be, Sherlock?"

I smile mirthlessly. "My answer… has already crossed your mind." I pull back on the trigger.

And Kathleen and Watson _move_.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

See? TGG. (For whomever has not yet watched _Sherlock_, that's "The Great Game," the season finale with a _deplorable_ cliffhanger.) ^_^ I should warn that this is just a possible scenario—I'm still experimenting, and I'll keep on doing so up until the first draft of the book is written sometime in the somewhat distant future.

Next up, another little domestic scene, with some humorous fluff.

_**Please review!**_


	5. Kitchens, Cooks, and Cuteness

**Author's Note:**

Sadly, I don't have time to answer reviews this time. So very sorry!

Tomorrow, I go offline. *whimper* I'll see you guys here and there in the next two months, though.

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><p><em>© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire.<em>

_All rights reserved._

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><p><strong>5. Kitchens, Cooks, and Cuteness==<strong>

There are still days that Kathleen wears trousers rather than dresses, though she never steps out the door in such apparel unless in disguise.

Perusing a cookbook, she leans now against the kitchen counter, clad in the "blue jeans" she wore when she first arrived. She once joked to Watson, "You can take the girl out of the 21st century, but you can't take the 21st century out of the girl." I suppose that would be true of any time-traveller.

Mrs. Hudson has been removed from the line of fire: she is visiting with her sister until this conflict is over. This means that Kathleen and I must fend for ourselves in terms of housekeeping and cooking. Thank heaven that my postmodern counterpart is an excellent cook, though we do often eat out for convenience's sake.

"Do you need help?" I ask from my vantage point at the kitchen door.

She smiles over her shoulder. "Can you cook?" That she lights up almost every time I make an appearance has not slipped past my attention.

"Actually, I can."

Her smile turns into a grin. "Wash up, then, and c'mon over. I'm trying to figure out dinner here."

"Certainly."

"So," she says as I scrub my hands clean, "how do you know how to cook? I mean, it's not like it's a requisite skill for squires' sons."

"Ah, my mother knew, and she taught me."

"Ahhh. …Holy cow, I've gotta take the pie out of the oven."

The air did indeed smell delicious. "What kind of pie is it?"

Kathleen opened the oven and removed the large pie plate. "Um, apple."

I cocked an eyebrow. "_Apple_ pie?"

"That's right—I forgot. It's an American thing."

"I see." I craned my neck over her shoulder to get a better look at the dish.

She twisted her head around to shoot me a pointed glare. "And it's for _dessert_."

I took a step back and gave her a pitiful look that I've discovered works wonders with her willpower. "I cannot take just one bite?"

Her shoulders slump, and she glances heavenward. "Oh, for crying out loud…"

"Just one _little_ bite?"

"_Nein_. It'd burn your tongue right now, anyway."

"Later, then!"

"Sure thing—right after dinner."

"Kathleen!"

"Sherlock!"

We burst out laughing at the same time. "_No_ means _no_ means _no_ means _no_," she gasps out between laughs.

"You _are_ cruel, Kathleen Aubrey Stewart," I return between my own laughs.

"And _you're_ shameless." Catching her breath, she continues, "Don't tell me your mother let you eat sweets like that as snacks."

"She didn't," I shrug nonchalantly. "Mrs. McIntire did."

"Your cook."

I nod.

She sighs. "I can _definitely_ see that happening—if you can pull off those puppy eyes so well as an adult, I'd hate to think of how much more devastating they must have been in your childhood."

I chuckle. "You said you were planning dinner?"

"_Trying_ to," she corrected, holding out the cookbook. "We have a chicken, though I'm not sure that it's ready—I've never cooked a whole chicken before. Closest I've come to that has been helping Mama with the turkey on Thanksgiving."

"Hum, I've cooked chicken and partridge before, but that was a _very_ long time ago. I'm not sure I'd trust my memory."

"We'd better not chance it, then."

"Indeed. What _do_ we have in the pantry?"

"Well, come take a look for yourself." She opens the door to the pantry, and I flip through the book as I glance around the shelves.

"Good heavens," I mutter as I glance back and forth between the book in my hand and the foodstuffs on the shelves. "Kathleen, I'm not certain…"

She makes a sound that is part-sigh, part-growl—she is tired and frustrated. "Great. We keep having either something modern that I can manage to make out of what we have or soup out of whatever I throw together. I was hoping to have a true Victorian dinner."

"We could settle for the pie," I suggest reasonably. She turns a withering glare in my direction. "Perhaps not, then."

She rakes her fingers through her pulled-back hair. "Maybe we could improvise with leftovers," she murmurs.

"Between the two of us, I'm sure we can come up with something decent," I agree gently.

She favours me with a weary smile. "You would think. Well, we have a thing of ham…"

I smile privately at her postmodern American slang.

"Some veggies—green beans, peas, and carrots, I think… oh, and celery…"

"Perhaps some biscuits would be in order?"

"Yes! Biscuits! Can you make that?"

"That—" I slam the book shut decisively—"I can do."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

And again we have no Watson. Dreadfully sorry about that—he doesn't seem to want to participate! Then again, he does have a practice and a wife, so… yeah, I can see how he'd be too busy. But, John, you'd _better_ make it next time!

This scene was originally longer, and actually had a kiss at the end. …It did _not_ work out. These two don't seem to want to cooperate about that, and when I make them do it, they take revenge by acting all out of character about it. *sighs* Hopefully, we can still see something in the not-so-distant future… *glares at two certain private detectives*

Btw, if there's something specific you'd like from this series, let me know! Give me a prompt if you like—I'm open to ideas! =)

Well, God bless y'all! Catch you later!

_**Please review!**_


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